‘Sometimes at noon when it is so hot, the sea has a mist over it. Or it might be in the dark when the land is still and quiet.’ She suddenly stopped, holding her body dead still. ‘There. Breathe in. That is her perfume. The goddess must have been here!’

Dora, repressing a tolerant smile, took a deep breath.

There was a definite fragrance – fresh and green, with a strong overtone of pungent eucalyptus. She tried to place it but decided she couldn’t recognize the aroma.

‘It is myrtle, what we call myrtia. The plant is sacred to Aphrodite. They used it at all her rituals. Often her statues had a garland of myrtle round their neck.’ Ariadne paused dramatically, puffing herself up with pride. ‘And yet there is none growing near here.’

Beyond her, Juno the goat tossed her head in apparent agreement.

‘Look around you, Do-ra.’ Ariadne had the secret smile of a high priestess or a vestal virgin. ‘And show me where the myrtia is growing.’

Dora stared around her. Ariadne was right. There was no myrtle.

‘It must be hidden somewhere,’ she almost snapped, feeling as if she’d wandered into The Magus. Any moment now, some fake priestess would appear wearing a scary mask.

Ariadne maintained her faintly irritating smile of superiority. ‘Maybe she is angry.’

‘So will I be, if I don’t get that cappuccino.’ Dora took Ariadne firmly by the arm. ‘And why should she be angry?’

Ariadne walked ahead, clicking at the goats to follow. ‘The rich man from Athens . . .’

‘Xan something . . .?’

‘Yes, him. He has bought this olive grove so he can build his stupid house in her special place.’

‘I see. And that will be quite near your bar.’

Ariadne shrugged. ‘We have hardly any customers.’

‘What will happen to the olive grove?’

‘He wants to chop down the part next to the house – to build a swimming pool! When the beach is only five minutes away!’

‘No wonder the goddess is angry.’ Dora looked across at the sun sparkling on the shallows in the perfect horseshoe bay. It really was a beautiful place. A thought suddenly struck her. ‘How do you get supplies to the beach bar? By mule?’

Ariadne smiled at this old-fashioned idea. ‘In his friend’s boat. My father drops what we need every day from the hotel.’

That was a relief.

‘I hope he’s dropped some of Cassandra’s delicious cake. She gave me a slice and I left it in my room.’

They walked together for the final five minutes along the white sand beach. With its backdrop of pine, wild mastic and locust trees, the occasional sudden clump of pink oleander or wild olive, it was indeed a magical spot.

Magic. That word again. For God’s sake, pull yourself together, woman, Dora told herself sternly. You’re getting as bad as Ariadne.